


red velvet under pressure

by callieincali



Category: Blindspot (TV)
Genre: F/F, Zapatterson, and some angst too, patterson being a gay mess, redhead!tasha, tasha being a flirty mess, undercover!tasha
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-11
Updated: 2018-04-11
Packaged: 2019-04-21 09:50:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14282337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callieincali/pseuds/callieincali
Summary: tasha is undercover. patterson buys a pretty, red-haired woman a drink.





	red velvet under pressure

**Author's Note:**

> soo, this is my first fic in the zapatterson fandom! i blame the twitter gc i’m in for it. 
> 
> i had to change the mission to make this fit, so just go with it thanks
> 
> okay enjoy!

Spending a night at the bar wasn’t how Patterson had thought her day off from work would end, but she found herself alone at the wood counter as the sun dipped below the horizon, nonetheless.

She couldn’t say that a day off was exactly relaxing for her— it was far from it, and she swore she spent more time thinking about how she wanted to be at work than relaxing from the stress of it— but she did have to admit that her relationship with her job wasn’t exactly the healthiest. She could probably do with a day off here and there, if not for herself then to please the rest of her team who seemed permanently set on convincing her to stop pushing herself so hard.

The team had taken to using Patterson’s apprehension to dating as their new topic of interest, whether they were hinting at coworkers she would pair well with or encouraging her to start looking for someone to _at least_ hang out with outside of work. Patterson feigned her consideration of the ideas, promising to think about them but wasting no time to toss the suggestions aside before they could find purchase in her thoughts.

But it _had_ been years since her relationship with Borden ended, and while part of Patterson knew an appropriate amount of time had passed, a larger part couldn’t shake the fear of trusting someone only for them to betray her or end up dead.

Still, she could hear Tasha’s stern voice at the back of her mind, “You gotta get back on the horse. No more lame excuses.”

And Patterson felt stupid for thinking about the brunette in the first place, much less listening to advice from the girl after what she had confessed the week before— after knowingly working with the man who still haunted her dreams and made her nervous to sleep alone in her own home.

Patterson’s grip tightened momentarily on her glass at the thought of Tasha telling her to start moving on when she had known that the man who attempted to kill her was still out there.

Her eyes wandered from her drink, scanning the bar seats beside her, more out of boredom than in relation to her previous thought. The bar was fairly empty aside from a few tables of friends and the occasional lone drinker like herself, and she didn’t think she’d find anyone worthy of conversation until her eyes landed on the sight of long, flowing red hair at the end of the bar and lingered there for a moment longer than the rest of the people she looked over.

The woman’s face was directed towards the large TV hanging from the wall on the opposite side of the room from Patterson, but the way her red locks swept over one shoulder and left the other exposed held Patterson’s attention and sent sparks filling her stomach. Her gaze dropped lower to the deep burgundy dress hugging the woman’s curves, her eyes tracing over them for a split second before Patterson forced herself to turn back towards her drink, the slightest hint of pink rising to her cheeks.

She inwardly scolded the way her eyes craved to be back on the woman and her stunning red hair, beginning to let the flashbacks of David and Borden play through her thoughts as a reminder of why she was not going to look again, but stopping when the same voice from before interjected and paused her self-sabotage.

No more lame excuses.

Patterson downed the last of her gin and lemonade, shaking the voice from her head because hearing it only filled her chest with heat and anger, and waited for the bartender to return to where she sat, her heart already pounding at the thought of what she was going to do.

Her mouth felt incredibly dry as the man approached her expectantly, but she forced herself to speak despite it, ignoring the way her heart rate refused to slow.

“I’d like another gin and lemonade,” she began, her eyes flicking towards the loose red curls to the side of her before returning to the bartender. She swallowed the lump building in her throat. “And I’d like to buy one for the woman at the end in the red dress.” Her voice dropped to barely above a whisper, just loud enough for the man to hear and shoot a glance down the counter before offering a short nod of understanding.

Patterson bit hard on her tongue before she could act on her sudden cold feet, watching in stunned silence as the bartender mixed the drink and poured two separate glasses. She flooded her mind with the reassurance that nothing had to come from the interaction— the chances of the woman also liking girls was low, and even then, Patterson figured there was nothing wrong with a one-night stand as long as feelings didn’t get involved. She was just here to take her mind off work for the day; tomorrow could be a different story.

She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and nibbled on it in anticipation as the man leaned against the counter to slide the red-haired woman her drink, muttering something inaudible to her and punctuating it with a gesture in Patterson’s direction.

She held her breath.

The woman tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, nodding her head in silent appreciation before turning to find the buyer of the drink now sitting in front of her.

Patterson saw her face and stopped breathing altogether.

Because recognizable dark brown eyes stared back at her and Tasha’s familiar grin beamed towards her from across the room. It quickly fell to a look of shock that Patterson was sure her own face mirrored.

Heat flooded her cheeks before she could even begin to question the strangeness of the situation, and she hurriedly buried her face in her hands before the tint in her cheeks became too obvious. The sound of Tasha’s barstool scraping against the ground followed, and the seat next to Patterson filled with the skirt of a deep red dress seconds after.

Patterson refused to look up. She had nothing to say to the girl, nothing that could change or quell the cold anger building in her chest. (And definitely nothing to justify the circumstances that had led them to where they were currently.)

Tasha was the first to speak, breaking Patterson from her turmoil momentarily. “Fancy seeing you here.” There was an intended humor to the greeting but it was easily overpowered and drowned out by the residual tension lingering between them. Patterson shook her head profusely, as if it could somehow undo everything that had taken place in the last five minutes. Her stomach twisted inside her, caught somewhere between embarrassment and anger; she wished there was a way to bury her face deeper into her palms.

“What are you doing here?” Patterson managed, the inquiry muffled from behind her hands. The question felt rhetorical, as if she was addressing her terrible luck rather than the now-redhead beside her. Tasha didn’t notice that intent and answered casually.

“Posing as a criminal’s wife,” Tasha began, sighing through the words. That explained the uncharacteristic red hair and dress, Patterson supposed. “Waiting for a case suspect to buy me a drink and sell me some illegally obtained weapons,” she explained nonchalantly, but sent a prudent glance over her shoulder in the direction of the door as she finished. Patterson couldn’t ignore the tugging in her chest at the thought of having her first real conversation with Tasha since telling the brunette she wanted to keep their relationship strictly professional.

Deciding not to make a probable fool of herself any longer, Patterson lifted her head just enough to make eye contact, lowering her eyebrows as if considering the new information. Tasha’s lips curved upwards slightly as their gazes met, her eyes glinting mischievously.

“You don’t exactly fit the description we were given,“ The implication of the statement was enough to prompt Patterson to look away again, her hands reaching for her untouched drink and downing most of the mixture in three long chugs. Her cheeks pulsed behind the heat they were radiating.

Patterson turned back to Tasha, ready to defend herself— probably with some lame excuse Tasha wouldn’t believe anyway— but hesitated when she found the girl already talking quietly, obviously into a device not visible to Patterson’s eyes. “I have eyes on a white male with a star tattoo on his neck.”

She followed Tasha’s gaze to a man standing just beyond the door, scanning the room until he found the red hair he must have been looking for and made his way to the seat beside her. Tasha feigned a smile that read civility, turning to Patterson once more and uttering a hushed “you should leave” just before the suspect took his seat beside her.

“I hope you didn’t start drinking without me, Julie,” the man said, resting his elbows on the bar counter and sending a look of scrutiny Tasha’s way. Her grin didn’t falter as she motioned to the gin and lemonade in front of her. Another wave of embarrassment washed over Patterson as she watched.

“You were late. I got tired of waiting.”

Patterson had to commend the agent’s composure— she even felt the corner of her own lips tugging at the confidence of the response, but pushed her entertainment aside when she remembered where her relationship stood with Tasha.

The man laughed in a gap-filling way, only adding to the growing tension between the two, his eyes squinted to mere slits as his hands folded in front of him. “You know,” he started, his voice deep and raspy. “I’ve met Julie once before.” Patterson’s stomach lurched at the realization of where the interaction was going, holding back a gasp as one of the man’s hands dipped below the bar counter, lingering wearily near his belt. “And you’re not her.”

The shining metal of a gun came into view a second before it was pointing towards Tasha, and it only took one curious glance from another customer to fill the bar with collective shouts and gasps. Patterson stared ahead, seeing swarms of panicked bar-goers rushing for the exit in her peripheral, but found herself unable to follow suit with the rest of them.

“Patterson, go,” Tasha called over her shoulder as she rose to her feet, hands slowly lifting above her shoulders. And Patterson wanted to listen but the fear swelling in her chest rooted her to her seat and only intensified when the armed man noticed the exchange and turned the gun to point at the blonde.

“No, she stays, too.”

The air fell still, silence reigning as Tasha sent a worried look towards Patterson— one laced with apology that was easily recognizable from their recent conversations. The sight gnawed further at Patterson’s stomach.

The bar doors pushed open again, this time letting in two more men, each with weapons that made the one aimed at Patterson look like a child’s toy. She failed in holding back a quiet yelp of surprise, slowly lifting her own hands over her head in defeat.

Five seconds passed, then ten, each one filled with strategizing looks between the criminals. The man with the star tattoo was the first to bring his gaze back to his victims, but before he could begin to speak, the entrance flung open once more, and the familiar faces of the FBI task force filed in, barking out commands for the men to drop their weapons.

What immediately followed was chaos— the first bullets being shot from opposing sides, resounding through the air and cracking like thunder in Patterson’s ears. The suspects stole away from plain view, tucking themselves out of sight using various walls and bar furniture. Tasha wasted no time to turn to Patterson and grab hold of her wrist, dragging her from the stool and pulling her to crouch behind the unexposed side of the bar counter.

Patterson slid down the wood, her brain struggling to catch up with the commotion surrounding her. Even through a few steadying breaths, the pounding against her ribs maintained its quickened pace. The pressure of Tasha’s grip increased at the unmistakable sound of a bullet finding purchase in one of the criminal’s chests and Patterson couldn’t stop the way her eyes locked on where Tasha held her arm.

The pseudo-redhead finally released Patterson from her grasp— allowing the cool bar air to sweep over the newly exposed skin and highlight where the touch had been— using her freed hands to hike up the side of her dress in a way that Patterson almost felt obligated to look away from.

The smooth skin of Tasha’s leg held the blonde’s attention until she noticed the gun secured to it and she watched as the girl tugged the weapon from where it was attached, turning to face Patterson with another smirk that sent her stomach into knots all over again.

“So, do you always buy girls drinks?”

Patterson flushed at the realization of what the question implied, the first attempts of an explanation coming out as incoherent sentence fragments before the girl drew in a steadying breath and backtracked. “Can we ask questions when we’re not in imminent danger?”

Tasha’s smirk grew to a grin, but she didn’t have time to respond before her hand shot up to her ear, a look of concentration twisting her features. It was an expression Patterson was familiar with— the same one Tasha always made when a mission was about to go sideways.

Patterson’s previous indignation tapered to nothingness, her mind only able to focus on the sound of the yelling and gunfire beyond the counter.

“There’s another group of shooters coming in.” Tasha’s eyes shot around the bar, as if in search of something. “You can sneak out the back if I—“

“If you what? Hold them off? You have a handgun and no protection.” Their personal tension seemingly faded for the time being, both of the agents snapping into the ‘go-mode’ that felt practically imprinted in them since their training with the FBI.

“That’s more than you have. I can handle myself, just get out of here.” The finality of Tasha’s voice was hard to ignore, but the concern that uncontrollably swelled in Patterson’s chest only made her want to protest it. A part of her hated how protective she still felt over Tasha after everything that had happened, but the knowledge of how reckless the brunette could be outweighed her desire to act as if she didn’t care.

Tasha was pushing to her feet before Patterson could voice her objections; she managed a weak shout of Tasha’s name before brown eyes met hers again, hardening sternly as the standing girl called out again. “Go!”

Patterson wanted to be courageous, especially when Tasha was counting on her to be, but her legs felt like dead weight underneath her and her hands shook as the heels pushed into the floor, ready to propel her forward as soon as her legs decided to cooperate. There was a reason she tended to stay in the lab and the way her heart felt as if it might explode in her chest was a reminder of that.

She managed to push herself to her feet, staying low for a moment as a round of bullets rung and ricocheted off of various bar furniture. As soon as a moment of silence fell over the room, Patterson stood onto shaky legs, forcing herself forward to the back exit in view.

And stupidly, Patterson hesitated— she stopped just before her hand grabbed the door handle, a wave of sudden uncertainty washing over her— and took on last look at Tasha to ensure the girl wasn’t outgunned. The second of a glance was all it took for a gun to take aim at her, firing before she could react. A searing hot pain spread through her upper arm, burning all the way past her shoulder and up into her face. The force knocked her back to her knees and, once again covered by the bar, she felt with her hand for the wound and found a steady stream of warm liquid trickling from her just below her shoulder.

Patterson expected a yell of agony to escape her but the noise never came, her breathing growing slowly unsteady instead and sending silver stars to her vision. Tasha took notice immediately, running to her side and snaking an arm around Patterson before the blonde could comprehend the weight of the situation, pulling her back to sit against the cabinets lining the counter.

Patterson lifted her gaze to Tasha, finding a face painted in worry and fear, still framed by the atypical red locks that Patterson had trouble looking away from. Tasha wasted no time to pry Patterson’s hand from the wound with a wince from both parties as the seeping laceration was revealed. Patterson felt particularly aware of the gentle hand gripping her injured arm, gasping almost inaudibly as Tasha slid it soothingly up and down an unharmed area. The shorter girl had probably done it absentmindedly, but that didn’t stop the way it made Patterson’s cheeks warm.

Tasha nodded after a moment of close inspection. “It’s just a graze.” Patterson returned the gesture— less than relieved— just as another round of gunshots filled the room. Tasha grimaced at the sound, her eyes squeezing shut in concentration. “Change of plans. Stay here. I’ll get us out of this.” She brushed her red hair behind her shoulder, offering a reassuring squeeze to Patterson’s leg before moving to stand back up. The blonde reached out with her good hand before she was certain if she wanted to, ghosting her fingers over Tasha’s skin with just enough pressure to draw her attention.

“Be careful,” Patterson managed through her rapid breathing. She couldn’t place the emotion that prompted her to say it, settling on writing off the occurrence as a side effect of the adrenaline pumping through her veins and hindering her judgment. Tasha smiled a small smirk of reassurance and cocked her gun.

The shootout continued long enough for Patterson’s head to swirl from the mix of blood loss and fear, her head fallen against the counter behind her. The room fell silent for only a second before Tasha called out a resounding “Clear,” and wasted no time to duck below the cover of the bar.

A collective repetition of the word came back in reply as Tasha’s eyes scanned over the blood that had begun to soak Patterson’s arm and shirt. “Patterson’s hit, call an ambulance,” Tasha yelled frantically, grabbing a probably less-than-sterile rag from under the counter and securing it around the wound. Patterson could hear the commotion of handcuffs clicking and quiet conversation among the other agents, but her mind only seemed capable of focusing on the girl beside her— or more specifically, the way her red locks bounced behind her as she dropped to sit beside Patterson, their arms close enough to brush lightly against one another.

“You’re gonna be okay.” The breath of the whisper fanned over Patterson’s ear, sending a shiver up her back. And suddenly the counter felt far too hard against her the back of her head. She shifted position slightly, throwing her better judgement to the wind and letting her head fall gently against Tasha’s shoulder.

 

* * *

 

The sun had long since disappeared behind the horizon by the time Patterson left the care of the on-sight EMT, her arm aching and throbbing in protest to every movement. The burning heat had subsided, leaving room for the deep pain to set in and pulse angrily as she made her way back towards the front of the bar.

She hadn’t intended on seeing Tasha again, but as she approached the entrance, the brunette found her gaze and smiled weakly, offering a polite wave in Patterson’s direction. Tasha’s hair was no longer red and wavy, back to its normal dark brown tied back in a messy ponytail; Patterson almost found herself missing the previous, atypical look.

“Hey.” Tasha was the first to speak as Patterson walked closer, sending a gesture of dismissal towards Weller, who was giving his statement to the local authorities.

“Hey.” Patterson could feel the tension returning to the space between them, snuffing out any of the adrenaline-induced casualness that remained from their conversations in the bar. She held her sight with the sidewalk, suddenly too untrusting of how she would react if her eyes were to wander back to Tasha.

“How’s your arm?”

“It’s alright. They were able to stitch it up on site, so I get to skip the hospital trip.” Patterson held the injured arm to her chest, scanning over the white bandaging that had just begun to dot with the first signs of residual blood.

“That’s good.”

The awkwardness was impossible to ignore by then, but Patterson picked up her head to look at Tasha anyway, feeling her stomach flutter and twist at the way the brunette’s lips were pulled into a tiny smirk that held her attention.

“Maybe you can buy me a drink some other time,” Tasha said, her voice only loud enough for Patterson to hear. The fluttering in the blonde’s stomach dissipated at the words, leaving a brick of resentment in its place. “When guns aren’t involved.”

Patterson grimaced at the suggestion, shaking her head before Tasha could finish speaking. She hated that the brunette had brought up the topic despite the fact that it would have been lying to say she didn’t expect it. “Tasha, no, that’s not how this works.” Patterson took an instinctual step backwards. “You don’t get to come back into my life on your terms. That’s for me to decide.” Her voice broke as she finished the statement, the emotions she hoped to keep at bay breaking through. Tasha visibly deflated at the rejection, her smirk falling to sullen frown that felt like a hot knife to the blonde’s chest.

“I appreciate you being there for me today but that does not put us on good terms.” The figurative knife twisted as Patterson sucked in a breath, gathering up all the will she could find to continue. “I’m not ready to forgive you.”

Surprisingly, Tasha’s crestfallen expression perked up at the words, her eyes soft and glistening in the dim street lighting. “I’m not asking you to.” She stepped forward and made up for the distance Patterson had attempted to put between them. “I don’t know if _I’m_ ready to forgive myself for what I did to you—“ Tasha paused, tears beginning to form at the corners of her eyes. “For breaking our trust after all that you’d been through.” The tears swelled but didn’t fall. “I thought I was protecting you, I really did.”

Patterson couldn’t bear to look at the brunette any longer, her own eyes beginning to sting. Her hands itched to bring Tasha into her arms— to wipe the tears as they fall down her cheeks and promise her everything would be okay. She stared at her feet instead, biting her lip to stop herself.

“You can keep your forgiveness, I just hope one day you’ll understand why I did what I did,” Tasha explained, her voice falling to an volume that Patterson probably wouldn’t have heard had the girl not taken another step closer. She couldn’t stop her gaze from wandering and finding Tasha’s lips, which quivered slightly with each shaky breath she took.

Patterson wanted to feel them against hers. Wanted them to make her forget about the chaos her life had succumbed to. She wanted to forget it all, even if it was just for that moment. But as her eyes trailed, all she could see was the stoic expression of someone who had lied to her face in the past— someone who had held the same barely affected look when Patterson confessed she thought Borden may still be alive.

Patterson stepped back, again. The ache in her chest felt nearly unbearable as she turned to face away from Tasha. She wasn’t ready to understand. Not yet. She clung to the anger like a security blanket.

“I hope one day I will.”

Patterson walked off into the night, ignoring the way her eyes burned as the distance increased between them.

**Author's Note:**

> like i said, i blame the gc
> 
> i’m @bestbltches on twitter if you wanna yell at me or smth!
> 
> i appreciate kudos and comments a lot so please be sure to leave some!
> 
> thanks for reading!


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